Good Girls Go to Video Heaven
by Vivi Dahlin
Summary: When Susan is dealt an unexpected responsibility, she and Abby decide to make the best of it. But their plans for fun take a dangerous turn during a trip to the video store. Contains Suby friendship, humor and peril. Warning: bad guy's got a potty mouth.
1. Desperately Seeking Susan

Author's Note, 9-8-03: Well, here I go with my third ER fic endeavor. I'm switching gears this time and making Susan the main character, so bear with me as I get used to writing from her point of view. The story is set right after season 9, so it's possible there will be spoilers for that season but none for season 10. You know I don't own the characters - at least not until later on when I add new people and a bunch of other stuff happens that you don't need to know about yet.  
  
~For Dorothy, a kindred spirit~  
  
"Sometimes people leave you halfway through the wood. Do not let it grieve you, no one leaves for good." - the Baker's Wife [Into the Woods]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 1: "Desperately Seeking Susan"  
  
Susan Lewis was not a tasteful sleeper. She had been an energetic child, always restless, even in sleep, and never quite outgrew the fitful tossing and turning that left her hair in intricate knots, her arms and legs splayed at odd angles, and gave her pajamas a rumpled, sideways look that made her seem off balance, or ready to jump into action at any moment. Her mouth, she was told, often gaped open in a most unattractive manner. Pillows and sheets were obstacles to be tossed aside on the rare occasions when sleep was deep enough to allow for dreaming.  
  
In fact, the last remaining pillow on her bed had just been flung overboard and landed with a faint plop on the discarded sheet below. She was too hot. The open bedroom window wasn't doing its job, nor was the rickety box fan that whirred in the corner; on the contrary, both seemed intent to spread the muggy night air on even thicker, aiding Chicago's monster heat wave in turning Susan's apartment into a gigantic oven. Perspiring and drugged by the heat, she was oblivious to the outside world and looked it as she briefly interrupted her own light snoring to bat an unpleasantly sticky tangle of blond hair away from her face.  
  
If she hadn't worked so late into the evening and come home exhausted or if she'd been sleeping just a little less soundly, she might have detected how unusual it was to hear a car door - a second echoed the first almost immediately - slamming at 3:17am on an otherwise silent street. She might have stuck her finger under a slat in the venetian blinds and lifted it to have a peek at who was invading her neighborhood at such an ungodly hour. She wouldn't have been able to see clearly in the moonlight, but the shadowy figure, despite its abnormal bulk, probably would have looked familiar as it clomped gracelessly up the front steps and entered her building.  
  
And maybe Susan did sense something out of the ordinary while she lay there damp with sweat and lost in a perplexing dream where she was both doctor and patient and everyone in the ER had gathered to laugh at her while she tried to intubate herself, because her frequent sighs and twitching muscles abruptly ceased. Down the hall someone was searching for the name LEWIS on a row of numbered mail slots.  
  
There was a momentary bustle on the other side of her apartment door, but Susan either heard none of it or simply incorporated it into her semi- nightmare and did not stir. It could have been a man or a woman concealed beneath the shabby clothes, greasy hair and baseball cap, but there was something distinctly feminine - almost motherly - about the movements as this person lowered their body and freed themselves of the bulk, which turned out to be a child clutching a dirty Powerpuff Girls backpack and a starry-eyed doll, that had weighed them down.  
  
"Give this to her," said a nervous voice, thrusting forward a twitchy hand that held a folded slip of paper. The child took it and nodded, though of the two the doll looked wider awake, its plastic eyelids blinking only once as it was situated in its owner's slender arms.  
  
"What if she ain't home?" Though groggy, the child's question was prepared and urgent.  
  
"She will be." Whether 'will be' meant now or later was unclear, and no further explanation was offered. With a swiftness that would have frightened an edgier child, the grim face beneath its baseball cap swooped down and placed a rough kiss on the little girl's forehead. "Knock loud."  
  
"Wait," the child fumbled with her doll a bit longer than necessary, finally holding it up by one leg, "you didn't kiss Bernadette."  
  
"Oh, beg your pardon, Bernie. Mwah." Playful as the gesture was, it felt very out of place in the scarcely lit hallway at three in the morning. "Love ya, sweetie pete."  
  
The little girl's forced smile faded as she watched her companion barreling towards the door that led to the street. She thought about following on tiptoe and attempting to sneak into the backseat of their car, but that required more energy than she had. The longer she stood outside Susan Lewis's apartment, the more welcoming and safer it seemed. Food and a place to sleep waited on the other side.  
  
Cradling Bernadette against her chest, the girl crumpled the note into her fist and tried to make her first knock quiet and loud at the same time. She accomplished this by barely grazing her knuckles against the wooden door, then giving it two firm raps. She winced as the sound echoed through her empty, unknown surroundings. "Maybe you better try, Bernadette," she whispered, positioning one of the doll's flexible arms so it resembled a miniature traffic cop's, palm out to stop vehicles. Cautious not to bump Bernadette's head, the girl slowly rocked the doll back and forth, patting its tiny plastic hand against the door.  
  
Susan was gagging on the endotracheal tube, sweat trickling into her eyes to mingle with the tears of frustration that were forming there. She couldn't understand why everyone was laughing at her. Not only laughing - now they were pounding on the trauma room doors, howling with delight at her predicament. Some of the nurses had started a chant. Susan blocked out the ruckus as best she could, but it just grew increasingly louder until finally all she could concentrate on was the hammering in her ears, the nurses crying, "Aunt Susan, Aunt Susan!"  
  
"Stop!" The sound of her own voice woke Susan up. Disoriented, she gazed at the ceiling and wondered why she was no longer in the ER. Her hands flew to her mouth and touched only parched lips. Just a dream, she told herself. Thank God. No more spicy foods before bedtime.  
  
Already half-asleep again, she was debating the importance of getting up to pee and had decided she could hold it till morning because the bathroom was too far away, when a feeble tapping noise cut through the steadily humming fan. It would have gone unnoticed, but seconds later a small, timid voice called, "Aunt Susan?"  
  
Susan made it out of bed in record time. Swear words accompanied each step as she rushed blindly through the dark and managed to collide with most of the furniture in her sparsely decorated apartment. She was hunched over, rubbing at the throbbing kneecap that had been assaulted by a forgotten coffee table, when she swung the front door open and came face to face with a rosy-cheeked, kinky-haired doll. And a slight girl whose wide hazel eyes were obscured by a fringe of bangs badly in need of trimming.  
  
"Suzy." For a moment it was all Susan could think of to say as she stared at her niece and silently compiled a list of reasons for this surprise visit. None of them were good. Her older sister had pulled too many stupid stunts in the past. "Hi. What's going on? Where's Chloe?"  
  
"She's... gone." Suzy hesitated long enough to glance over her shoulder, then remembered her mother's note. "Oh, here. We're supposed to give this to you. It's from her." She balanced the wad of paper in her upturned palm, wishing she hadn't wrinkled it so, even if it had been folded crookedly beforehand.  
  
Susan had a general idea of how the note would read ("Sorry to do this to you, Big Suzy, but can you take care of my kid while I go piss my life away on drugs..."), but she plucked it gently from her niece's hand, smoothed out the creases and forced herself to read each line carefully, her lips mouthing the words. Chloe was suffocating, it said. She couldn't think, she couldn't sleep. She needed to get away, just for a short while. An eight- year-old girl would be excess baggage. Please play surrogate mother until things are straightened out. Yeah, like last time, only no one gets hurt now - promise. Thanks, Suz. You're the best.  
  
"Can we come in?"  
  
"We?" Acting in a daze, her eyes still scanning Chloe's oversized print, Susan stepped aside and cupped a hand behind Suzy's head, leading the little girl into the apartment. This was every bit as dreamlike as the intubation scare, maybe even more so. At least during sleep any situation you encountered felt like an ordinary occurrence. It was during your waking hours that the real nightmares happened.  
  
"Me and Bernadette. She's sort of a doll, but she's really my friend," Suzy explained, trailing her backpack along the floor and letting it bump against her heels, a plop-plop sound following each step. Her flimsy sandals were a size too small and the frayed leather straps were giving out on the sides. In one quick sweep Susan's observant gaze took in everything else, from Suzy's faded jean shorts and striped tank top to the toothy grinning face of Bernadette, who appeared better groomed than her owner. The doctor in Susan looked for signs of malnutrition or other problems, but Suzy's health seemed to be in better shape than her clothing.  
  
Actually, it was like looking at an eight-year-old replica of herself or Chloe, Susan thought. Suddenly stricken by the impulse to hug her niece, she crouched to the girl's level and pulled her close. "I missed you so much, Suzy Q," she sighed, poised on the balls of her feet as she let go and flashed a genuine smile, her eyes glossier than they had been seconds ago. She fussed with Suzy's lank hair, brushing a few sweaty strands behind her ear. "How've you been? Doing okay?"  
  
"Uh-huh." Suzy shrugged. "I missed you too. I been telling Bernadette all about you and she's been dying to meet you. She's real glad we're here because she don't like riding in the car very much, and she's starving and ready to go back to sleep. She don't like waking up when it's still dark out."  
  
"I don't blame her one bit." Susan stifled a yawn and glanced at the digital clock on her VCR. Three thirty-six. What the hell was Chloe thinking leaving a child alone in a strange place at this hour? At any hour? Oh wait, never mind. Chloe COULDN'T think.  
  
Sighing heavily, Susan stood and contemplated what to do next. She had to work this morning and it was way too early to call for a sitter. Worse yet, she didn't even know any sitters to begin with. And Suzy didn't need to be passed off to some stranger right now, anyway. Tired and at a loss for ideas, Susan regarded her niece uncertainly, as if the little girl might have some suggestions. And she did.  
  
"Do you got cereal? Kix or something?" Suzy asked hopefully. "Kix is Bernadette's favorite."  
  
"Well, you're in luck, Bernadette." Susan turned towards the kitchen and motioned for Suzy to follow. "I just bought a box of Berry Berry Kix the other day. They're my favorite too."  
  
Barely three spoonfuls of Kix had disappeared from Suzy's bowl by the time she fell asleep sitting up. Susan left the cereal where it was and carried her exhausted niece to the bedroom, her own thoughts in a kind of sleepy haze. She wanted to concentrate on the spot Chloe had put her in, to feel the full extent of the anger and disgust she'd repressed for Suzy's sake. But her mind wouldn't focus and her eyes followed suit. The last thing Susan saw before she dozed off was Suzy sprawled carelessly at her side, Bernadette tucked under one arm, blond hair tumbling across the mattress, and lips parted ever so slightly. 


	2. Hating Her

"I like what a duo can do. The combination is greater than the sum of its parts." - Daisy & Violet Hilton [Side Show]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 2: "Hating Her"  
  
"I wish I could get my hands on Chloe and slap some sense into her. She's so damn selfish! You know, she always used to say she didn't want to be anything like our mother - they'd get into these huge fights and she'd storm into our room, slam the door and say, 'God, Suz, I hate her. I'm never going to be like that. Promise me you won't be, either.' And I'd promise. But now Chloe is just like our mother. No, actually she's worse. At least our mother never left us on someone's doorstep in the middle of the night." Susan yanked a paper towel from the dispenser with such force that an entire handful followed. She tried to stuff them back in the slot, but several fluttered loose and glided across the slick tiled floor like little brown bobsleds.  
  
Abby bowed her head, her bottom lip tucked in as if she might be ready to laugh and wanted to quell the reaction. Instead, she bent down and gathered most of the paper towels off the bathroom floor, conveniently overlooking a couple that had landed in a suspicious puddle adjacent to the stalls.  
  
"I mean, what kind of parent just walks away from her child?" Susan was gazing in the mirror now, smoothing back a few wayward hairs her comb had apparently missed before the mad dash to work this morning. She and Suzy had slept through ten whole minutes of alarm-buzzing and probably would have went right on snoozing if a helpful - or really annoyed - neighbor hadn't pounded on the wall.  
  
Susan had dressed so hastily that she ended up wearing a pair of jeans, which didn't exactly meet the ER dress code, and a blouse that five seconds before they entered the hospital Suzy noticed was inside out. Leaving her niece at the admittance desk to be entertained by Frank, Susan had darted for the ladies' room to right herself and get a much-needed potty break, dragging a stunned Abby along with her. As soon as the bathroom door closed behind them, Susan's ranting had begun and, five minutes or so later, was still going strong.  
  
"It happens," Abby said, pitching the trash she had collected.  
  
The matter-of-fact statement caught Susan off guard, killing her desire to verbally bash Chloe in front of Abby. She hadn't met her friend's mother, but what little she knew about the woman and Abby's childhood was eerie in its similarity to the way Chloe was raising Suzy.  
  
Abby glanced up from washing her hands and saw Susan's apologetic expression reflected in the mirror. "Go on, I don't mind. I agree - it's a crappy thing to do to a kid. Makes you wonder what's so wrong with you that your own mother doesn't want you." She turned off the faucet and flicked excess water from her fingers, a smirk in her voice and on her lips. "Why do you think I became an alcoholic?"  
  
"I just figured it had something to do with men." Susan placed a paper towel in Abby's waiting palm. "That's my excuse for drinking."  
  
The women silently exchanged looks, then broke into laughter that concluded with a deep sigh from Susan. She had been avoiding her emotions so well until just then, until that brief snippet of humor from her friend, which wasn't all that funny once you thought about it. It was really quite sad. A little girl should never have to question her mother's love. What kind of emotional turmoil was Suzy going to be saddled with when she grew up? Worse yet, what kind was she experiencing now?  
  
"I don't know what to tell her," Susan blurted tearfully, her features crumpling in on themselves. She put her hand over her face, embarrassed to be weeping in front of Abby. They were close - Susan had begun to regard Abby as one of her best friends, and not only at work - but so far their relationship was built around laughter. Abby's sometimes stoic nature left Susan feeling unsure of how to display grief when they were together. She was supposed to be the cheerful one who cracked jokes to take Abby's mind off of family crises, not the one crying in the bathroom because her sister was an idiot.  
  
Still, it felt good to get it out. Susan hadn't allowed herself much time to mull over the last big incident: Chloe leaving her daughter outside a crack house for some whack job to kidnap. She needed to mull now, preferably out loud. Abby's sympathetic brown eyes and comforting hand stroking gently back and forth between Susan's shoulder blades was all the persuasion that was needed.  
  
"It was easy when Suzy was a baby and Chloe pulled this kind of thing," Susan sniffled. "Suzy didn't understand what was going on then. But now... what do I say to her?"  
  
"Let her know how much you love her and how much you enjoy having her with you," Abby said soothingly, reaching for a paper towel. The stack Susan had crammed back into the dispenser came loose again, but this time Abby left them on the floor and handed her friend the makeshift tissue to dry her eyes. "It won't fix everything, but it will help. If things are that bad with Chloe then Suzy probably wants to be with you, anyway. She'll miss her mom no matter what, but at least with you she'll know she has someone she can depend on. Trust me, it's better this way."  
  
"Better?" Susan scoffed, blowing her nose lightly into the paper towel.  
  
"Yeah. She's got you to give her some stability and she's not alone. It could be worse. She could have nobody." Abby gave Susan's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Tell her she's got a mom who loves her so much she wouldn't leave her with anyone else but you because you'll take the best care of her."  
  
Susan smiled gratefully, though with flushed cheeks and eyes puffy and red from tears she looked rather forlorn. "You should work for Hallmark," she said, an amused snort taking place of the chuckle her stuffy nose wouldn't permit.  
  
"Nah. I wouldn't get to hang out in the bathroom with you anymore... Suz."  
  
"If you call me that, I'm calling you Abs," Susan warned, fixing her friend with a playful glare.  
  
"Susan it is."  
  
Before they headed back to the chaos of the ER, Susan went with her instincts and pulled Abby into a warm hug. "Thanks. I... I don't mean to unload any burdens on you. I just needed to talk to someone."  
  
"Talk to someone about what?" said a new, inquisitive voice. Jing-Mei Chen had slipped in unnoticed by the other two women and stood in front of the diaper-changing station on the wall, hands tucked neatly in the pockets of her spotless lab coat. Her sleek dark hair was swept back in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck and disapproval was etched on her face, punctuated by one highly arched, perfectly plucked eyebrow.  
  
"Susan's air conditioner is on the fritz," Abby said earnestly.  
  
Wow, Susan thought. If it weren't for the fact that she didn't even own an air conditioner, she might have believed that was something she had actually mentioned to Abby in their conversation. Chen, however, eyed Abby with unmistakable distrust then cut her gaze quickly to Susan for affirmation. Only a profoundly imperceptive person wouldn't have been able to tell that moments ago Susan had been crying.  
  
"Yes. And it's very hot." Susan pinched the front of her blouse and flapped the gauzy material back and forth, working up a breeze for emphasis. She had no plans of filling Chen in on what was really going on. They were colleagues and occasional drinking buddies, but Susan found it difficult to warm up to the woman. Whatever the female equivalent of a ladies' man was, that would be Chen. She didn't... mesh too well with members of the same sex. In fact, Susan always got the impression she was in some weird competition with Chen when they were together. Like they should be tallying up who had had the most sex ever or who knew more about kama sutra.  
  
"Oh, I see." Chen nodded curtly and moseyed over to the long mirror above the sinks. She took out a tube of lipstick and applied a fresh coat of beige to her bee-stung lips. "Did either of you see that little girl at the desk?" she asked casually, drawing them into a discussion that included her. She paused long enough to blot her lips on a paper towel, rolling her eyes at the mess directly below the dispenser. "I can't believe people are still bringing their kids to work, can you? Hello, get a babysitter already. Ever heard of daycare? Or school??"  
  
"It's summer," Abby pointed out quickly, sneaking a wary glance in Susan's direction.  
  
Susan thought about adding a snarky response of her own, but she wasn't in the mood for a cat fight today. Better to keep things light and funny, otherwise work would be a pain in the ass. She didn't need that at the moment, even if Chen was getting under her skin. "Well, there's always adoption," she quipped.  
  
Chen blanched. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Bewildered by the sudden hostility, Susan simply lifted her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "I was kidding." Eager to get away from Chen, she strode toward the door and cast a meaningful gaze at Abby, who fell into step beside her. "Would you like to meet my niece?" Susan asked, a bit louder than necessary. "She's waiting for me at the front desk."  
  
"Love to," Abby replied, letting the bathroom door slam shut behind them. 


	3. The Trouble with Angels

Author's Note, 10-05-03: Sorry for the delay. I had a little case of writer's block. Blech. I think my anxiousness to get to the intense stuff is making it hard to concentrate on setting up the story. But no worries, I'll get there soon enough.  
  
---  
  
"May we entertain you? May we see you smile? I will do some kicks./ I will do some tricks./ I'll tell you a story./ I'll dance when she's done./ By the time we're through entertaining you, you'll have a barrel of fun! You'll have a barrel of fun!" - Baby June & Louise [Gypsy]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 3: "The Trouble with Angels"  
  
Once, at the age of fifteen, Susan had used a month's worth of saved up allowances to buy a dictionary of vulgar slang and phrases - her goal, to memorize them from A to Z. There was no point behind it, just a fun little exercise in linguistics that might come in handy during confrontations with snooty cheerleaders or arguments with Cookie Lewis, whom Susan was fairly certain had invented a good chunk of the terminology found in the book. But now all those homemade flashcards and vocabulary quizzes, which she had spent more time constructing and studying than she did for most 10th grade English assignments, were proving useful. As she and Abby walked away from the bathroom, leaving Chen behind, Susan was literally able to call Chen every name in the book. She wished she could give her fifteen-year-old self a pat on the back.  
  
"Do you think the hospital carries an adhesive strong enough to seal that door shut?" Susan jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the ladies room. She hadn't actually cussed Chen out for anyone but her own seething mind to hear, but she wasn't above voicing a few digs as well. She knew Abby wouldn't care. Their main form of entertainment during long, tedious shifts was making fun of others.  
  
Abby tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe. But I doubt it would hold very long."  
  
"Why not?" Susan sounded truly disappointed, as if barricading Chen in the bathroom had been a plausible idea.  
  
"Well, eventually she'd pick up the scent of a virile young man, and that door wouldn't stand a chance."  
  
"Virile young man?" Susan snickered and pretended to scan the busy reception area for someone of that description. The only male in sight was Frank, the ER's scrappy old desk clerk who was making Suzy giggle by doing the worst Bullwinkle impression Susan had ever heard. It was hard to picture the retired cop as a sexy twenty-something, trim and debonair in his Chicago PD uniform. Images of him parking his squad car outside Krispy Kreme, a box of donuts in his lap and a dollop of strawberry filling on his chin, were much easier to conjure.  
  
"Yeah, or Frank. They'd make a cute couple, I think." Abby sidled up to the burly man who had pressed a thumb to either of his temples, eight other extended, wiggling fingers substituting as antlers, and was making a strange lowing sound. "Hey Frank, would you get it on with Chen? She told us she thinks you're a major stud muffin."  
  
Susan struggled to keep a straight face while a wide range of emotions passed over Frank's bulldog features, from surprise to disgust. He quickly lowered his hands and glared at the women like they were a pair of mischievous children he meant to scold.  
  
"Tell her I'll slap a sexual harassment suit on her horny little ass if she gets fresh with me," he said gruffly. "Same goes for you two."  
  
"Aww..." Susan pushed her bottom lip out in a childish pout. "You're just a tease. You know your Bullwinkle impression drives the girls wild."  
  
"Bullwinkle??" said Frank, galled. "I was impersonating Jerry."  
  
"There's no Jerry in the Bullwinkle cartoons." Abby had a wicked gleam in her eye as she leaned her elbows on the countertop next to Frank, blocking his left side while Susan and Suzy, who was watching intently from her seat next to a stack of charts on the desk, remained at his right.  
  
"Jerry Markovic, Lockhart," Frank snapped. "The goon they let fill in for me on occasion. You should recognize him... or haven't you slept with him yet?"  
  
Unfazed, Abby shook her head and absentmindedly fiddled with a rock-shaped paperweight that was positioned in front of her. She tapped it against the edge of the desk a few times like it was an egg she wanted to crack. "I'm still working on that. Gotta cover Gallant, Romano and Weaver first." Clink, clink, clink went the paperweight, ticking off each name.  
  
Susan cleared her throat, hands propped sassily on her hips. "When's it my turn?"  
  
Muttering to himself about young women these days and their loose morals, Frank snatched the paperweight from Abby's grasp and put it back where it belonged. "It was nice to meet you, Suzy," he said, turning soft long enough to shake the little girl's hand. He gave Bernadette an uncertain pat on the head when Suzy held her out to him. "You and your dolly keep Auntie Susan in line for me, okay?"  
  
"Okay. Bye, Frank."  
  
"Bye, Frank!" Susan and Abby echoed in helium-voiced unison. They made a big show of waving and blowing kisses to the irritated man until he stalked away, disappearing around the nearest corner. Susan spirits had lifted considerably, and she watched with amusement as Abby searched for a place to hide the paperweight, finally concealing it behind a scrawny potted plant that someone had brought to work in a vain attempt to perk up the atmosphere. The poor thing looked as though it hadn't been watered for months.  
  
"Who's she?" Suzy asked, leaning over to whisper in Susan's ear as her curious gaze flickered in Abby's direction.  
  
"This is my friend Abby. She's a nurse here in the ER and she helps me pick on Frank a lot." Susan stressed the last word and winked at the girl. "Abby, this is my niece Suzy."  
  
"Hi." Abby smiled sweetly at Suzy and gave up arranging the shriveled brown plant, tucking her hands behind her back as if she had been caught raiding Mom's cookie jar. Suzy ducked her head bashfully and began twisting a lock of Bernadette's hair around her index finger.  
  
"Hi," she whispered.  
  
"Who's this?" Abby pointed at the doll that was cradled protectively in Suzy's arms.  
  
Susan hadn't even thought to introduce Suzy's little companion, and she was about to make amends by speaking in place of her silent niece, but Abby had chosen the perfect question to get the girl talking. Suzy abandoned peering up through her blonde bangs and looked straight at Abby with eyes that sparkled. Clearly, few grown-ups had ever taken the time to notice just how special this doll was.  
  
"She's Bernadette," Suzy said proudly. "She belongs to me. I got her as a birthday present from my mom long time ago. I take her everywhere. She used to have a diff'rent outfit than this one, but I lost it. You wanna hold her?"  
  
"Sure." Copying Suzy, Abby handled the doll gingerly and held it in the crook of her arm like it was a real baby. Her gaze slid in Susan's direction and they traded faint smiles, but Abby was earnest as she spoke to Suzy. "She's very pretty. I like her nail polish." Bright splotches of purple and green adorned Bernadette's fingers. "It matches her clothes."  
  
"I did that myself." Suzy was beaming.  
  
It impressed Susan as she watched Abby interact with the girl. There was no baby talk or gushiness, none of that impatience some adults seemed unable to mask when it came to devoting their attention to a small child. Abby spoke to Suzy as if she was an equal, and Suzy responded with enthusiasm. They had never discussed motherhood, but Susan found herself wondering if Abby had ever planned on having kids. She would be a good mother.  
  
The conversation had turned to a doll Abby had owned when she was Suzy's age, and Abby was going into detail about the complete wardrobe her mother had sewn for it.  
  
"What was the doll's name?" Suzy wanted to know.  
  
"Crayola."  
  
"After the crayons??" Suzy demanded, incredulous. Susan noted with amusement that instead of 'crayons', her niece pronounced the word more like 'crowns'. She had done the exact same thing as a child and never once considered it to be incorrect until she was ten and Chloe laughed at her for saying it that way.  
  
"I thought it sounded exotic." Abby grinned sheepishly.  
  
"I think it sounds weird."  
  
When she and Abby had finished laughing at Suzy's bluntness, Susan asked, "So where'd you think up a name like Bernadette?"  
  
"Bernadette Peters," Suzy answered, almost exasperated. Like her aunt should already have figured out something that simple. "Don't you remember? We used to watch the Annie movie together all the time. Bernadette is Lily St. Regis, the one who kicks Pepper. And she's Annie-get-your-gun too, and you played that music for me all the time."  
  
"And she's the witch in Into the Woods," Susan continued happily. She was delighted to know her niece could still recall such things; it had been quite a while since they last watched a musical together. Suzy was the only other person Susan knew who liked them, and they had spent many an evening curled up together on the couch watching the classics -- Oklahoma!, The Sound of Music, Meet Me in St. Louis and so on. They had even banned Chloe from entering the room during those times because they didn't want to see her rolling her eyes while they belted out songs with Judy Garland or did the Hand Jive through an entire five minute scene of Grease.  
  
"'The giant is a woman!'" Suzy quoted, throwing her hands into the air so melodramatically that a few curious patients in Chairs glanced up from the papers they were filling out. Abby was watching with the same perplexity.  
  
"It's really funny, if you've seen the video," Susan explained.  
  
"I gathered."  
  
Suzy clapped her hands together and wiggled her body like an excited puppy that anticipated a treat. "I got a idea! Abby can come over later and watch it with us. You will, won't you? Please, please?"  
  
"Well..." Abby glanced at Susan. "I'm free tonight, but it's really up to your aunt."  
  
If Susan knew Abby well enough, she was pretty certain the nurse had absolutely no interest whatsoever in a musical, especially one based on characters from fairy tales. But Suzy looked so hopeful and Abby didn't seem reluctant, so Susan didn't see any harm in having her friend over for a movie night. They could go a step further and make it a slumber party, maybe goof off just enough to forget about certain troubles that loomed overhead.  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
Before any specific arrangements could be made, a familiar figure beelined past the front desk in a blur of white lab coat and fiery red hair. "Save the girl talk for Star Jones, ladies. Lewis, Trauma 1. Now," Kerry Weaver barked, her presence disappearing long before the order did, giving the eerie impression that her voice was detached from her body and might be hanging around to yell again. She would have made one hell of a ventriloquist, Susan thought.  
  
"Go. Suzy can keep me company," Abby said.  
  
"Thanks." A grateful nod and one hasty kiss at the air in her niece's general direction, and Susan was gone.  
  
"Geez, people come and go so quick here," Suzy commented as Abby helped her down from the desk and handed over Bernadette. 


	4. Fight Club

"What ever happened to fair dealing and pure ethics and nice manners? Why is it everyone now is a pain in the ass? What ever happened to class?" - Velma Kelly [Chicago]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 4: Fight Club  
  
"That your kid?"  
  
Abby glanced up at the man whose blood pressure she was checking. He tipped his head to the side, indicating the little girl that sat cross-legged on a nearby gurney, playing contentedly with a doll dressed in a surgical cap and mask, both of which had been donated by Elizabeth Corday. Suzy had tied the cap on Bernadette's head like a bonnet and fashioned the mask into some sort of sundress, and she was using a toy stethoscope from the box of playthings the staff had rigged up in the waiting area to mime everything Abby did. Well-behaved and quiet, Suzy had been no trouble for Abby to look out after as she made the rounds and cared for patients. Most people were charmed by the child's wispy blonde hair and sweet smile. Abby was beginning to think the hospital should have a cute kid on staff just to wander around and put everybody in a good mood.  
  
"No, she belongs to a friend," Abby replied, undoing the Velcro of the blood pressure cuff and removing it from the man's upper arm.  
  
He flexed his hand a few times then cracked his knuckles, each with a loud pop and crunch that made Abby want to cringe and captured Suzy's fascination until every last finger had its say. "So you're a nurse and a babysitter," he said, managing to look as if he had just swaggered up to Abby in a bar, even though he was seated on a gurney and wearing a paper gown, "what else can you do?" He licked his bottom lip and eyed her appreciatively.  
  
"Colonoscopies," Abby said flatly. "Want one?"  
  
The man chuckled at her cleverness. "Feisty to boot. I should come to the hospital more often."  
  
"Keep it up and you might never make it home from this one." Abby gave the bag of saline solution she had just hooked to an IV pole a tiny flick. But instead of ominous, it came across as flirtatious. She didn't really mind. He wasn't a bad looking fellow, though too old for her. Probably 45 or so.  
  
"Hmmm, Lockhart, eh?" He inspected the nametag pinned to Abby's baby blue scrubs, a twinkle in his brown eyes. "Sure your real name isn't Nurse Ratched?"  
  
"'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest', right?" Abby pretended to be unsure and continued when the man nodded. "That was before my time."  
  
"So, how old does that make you? As long as you're over eighteen..."  
  
Another witty remark from Abby surely would have followed if Chen had not approached them at that moment, a cool air about her as she gave the patient a stiff smile and avoided eye contact with Abby. "How are you feeling, Mister..." Chen drew out the last word expectantly.  
  
"Perkins."  
  
"Mr. Perkins?"  
  
"Healthy as a horse." He leaned back against his pillow to look at Abby, who had to step aside as Chen crowded in to poke and prod his abdomen. "Miss Lockhart is taking fine care of me. We were just discussing modern literature. Have you ever read 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest', Doctor?"  
  
"Hmm?" Chen sounded distant, as if she hadn't really been listening. "Oh, no. I've seen the movie though. Didn't like it much."  
  
"Shame," said Mr. Perkins, only half listening himself as he watched Abby move over to the gurney where Suzy played. He startled and blinked rapidly when, without warning, Chen passed a bright light before his eyes.  
  
Several smart-ass comments about attendings doing scut work had come to mind, but Abby held her tongue and let the doctor take over. No sense in causing a scene in front of a patient. But if Chen wanted to flaunt her rank, she would have to do it with a smaller audience. Abby wasn't sticking around to see it. She held out her hand to Suzy.  
  
With a hint of mild interest, Chen asked, "Is that Dr. Lewis's niece?"  
  
"Yes." Abby continued to usher Suzy away, but Chen was persistent.  
  
"What's her name?"  
  
"Suzy."  
  
"Named after her aunt, how cute," Chen cooed, forgetting about Mr. Perkins for the time being and focusing on the child at Abby's side. "And what a pretty girl."  
  
"She's not the only one," Mr. Perkins chimed in, smile lines forming at the tiny upturned corners of his mouth and his eyes. He winked at Abby as she tried to pretend she hadn't noticed what he said. Chen was ignoring him as well, though she looked the slightest bit perturbed when she bent forward, resting her hands on her knees, to address Suzy. Abby felt five small fingers tighten around her hand. She gave them a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"My name's Jing-Mei. I'm a doctor just like your aunt. How would you like to spend some time with me, get to see what a real doctor does?" Chen widened her eyes and rounded her lips into a surprised O shape, simulating the expression of someone who had just opened the world's greatest birthday gift.  
  
Suzy stared and hesitantly shook her head, keeping her doll close to her chest, its head tucked under her chin. "No, thank you," she answered softly, "I ain't allowed to go with strangers. One kidnapped me once. I'll stay with Abby, she's Aunt Susan's friend. And a nurse. Me and Bernadette wanna be a nurse."  
  
The phony excitement drained from Chen's face and she stood straight again, tugging primly at the bottom of her lab coat. "Okay. Have fun, then."  
  
Abby couldn't help smirking when Chen departed as abruptly as she had arrived, and Mr. Perkins wondered out loud, "Who peed in her Cheerios?"  
  
***  
  
By the time 6 o'clock rolled around, Susan was plenty ready to hang up her stethoscope and ditch County General, never to return. At least until her next shift. She had been looking forward to her plans with Abby and Little Suzy all day, despite her doubts whether any of them would actually make it through an entire movie, let alone the two or three she had suggested while gabbing in the cafeteria. They had been so tired during lunch that no one even noticed Susan drinking her niece's chocolate milk, Abby pouring Susan's French dressing over her own garden salad, or Suzy not touching a bite of her grilled cheese but consuming an entire bag of mini Oreos that was meant to be split three ways.  
  
They would be fast asleep by 8:30 p.m., Susan wagered; 9 at the latest. Oh well, tomorrow was Saturday. If Abby had the weekend off, they would have two whole glorious days to relax and finish the movie festival.  
  
Hoping to God her friend's promise of a cool apartment was true, Susan clocked out and headed for the ambulance bay, the sweltering heat reaching through the open doors to embrace her before she even set foot on the pavement. Abby's shift had ended a couple hours prior to Susan's, and the nurse had taken Suzy home with her. They were to meet up at Abby's place and take things from there. Whatever -- as long as it involved air conditioning, Susan was game.  
  
The mixture of fatigue and sultry air had already begun to take its toll, and Susan was toying with the idea that she might be willing to kill the next person she laid eyes on if a human sacrifice was necessary to end this heat wave, when she spotted Chen and two male paramedics grappling with a rotund woman who was strapped to a gurney and flailing violently.  
  
"Witch, witch, you're a bitch!" the woman screamed in a shrill, chanting pitch. "Get your filthy mudblood hands off of me! Lord Voldemort will have your spleen on a plate! He'll dissect you like worms, he'll send you screaming straight to the pits of Hell, you Muggle scum, you-"  
  
"Looks like another Potterpath," yelled the taller paramedic, drowning out a slew of curse words and gibberish, and looking rather amused as he dodged a swipe from the woman's beefy hand.  
  
Visibly frazzled, Chen made a lame attempt to hold down the woman's other hand and hollered back, "A Potterpath??"  
  
"A Harry Potter psychopath."  
  
Susan knew very little about Harry Potter, but she sensed right away that his was a name not all "Potterpaths" cared to hear. The vexed woman emitted a terrible screechy howl and thrashed harder than ever.  
  
"Potter will die! The Death Eaters will offer the head of Potter to our Dark Lord!" And with one more mighty swing to prove her point, the woman's massive hand connected with the closest thing in sight -- Chen's face.  
  
"Damn," Susan muttered, unable to pry her eyes from the scene. It was as engrossing as a car wreck or one of those late night Jerry Springer episodes you just happened to pass while in a channel surfing stupor. Once it pulled you in, there was no turning back. She half-expected Chen to tear off her shirt, hop on the gurney and start pummeling the woman, all 300 or more pounds of her. It was almost disappointing when Chen merely stumbled backwards, clutching her inflamed cheek, and steadied herself against the open ambulance door, addled.  
  
"You okay, Doc?" one of the EMS workers called over his shoulder, barely pausing for an answer as he and his partner wheeled their out-of-control delivery into the ER.  
  
"Yeah," Chen said breathlessly.  
  
They had not spoken since their bathroom episode this morning, and Susan had purposefully avoided Chen like the plague, but Susan now felt a pang of guilt as she watched the other woman trying to gather some composure and tough out the sting that must have been numbing the entire side of her face. A patient had slapped Susan once, back during her residency, and she recalled vividly the harsh prickly sensation that a swift hand could leave behind. More than physical pain, it wounded your pride and made you feel a perfect fool.  
  
Shouldering Suzy's Powerpuff Girl backpack, which had been forgotten in the lounge and now rattled and clinked with a half empty bottle of juice and various vending machine staples that her niece had collected throughout the day, Susan chose the dutiful route and went over to make sure Chen was really okay. She caught the tail end of what sounded like a doozy of a sentence, its main goal to christen the slap happy patient a "crazy cow".  
  
Not PC but a suitable nickname and a nice alliteration, Susan thought. "You take a helluva right hook, girl," she said gently, careful not to startle the already shaken doctor.  
  
"You think this is funny?" Chen's eyes, although blurred with tears, were haughty and accusing as she thrust her chin upwards and quickly took her hand away from her cheek. Four long streaks were glowing there in bold, furious red.  
  
"No. Just breaking the ice." Susan examined Chen casually, treating the rudeness as she would any nasty remark from a patient. People weren't concerned with being friendly when they were injured or sick, after all. It took some practice, but you learned to overlook it. "I'm from a dysfunctional family, I use humor as a defense mechanism," she added, pausing to smile as she tilted Chen's head back, checking for swelling or signs of damage to the eye.  
  
"Well, sometimes humor is inappropriate," Chen snarled, pushing Susan's hands away. "You and your witty little friend Abby need to grow up and start acting like adults in the workplace. I don't know how either of you have survived this long with your level of unprofessionalism and the disregard for rules you practice on a regular basis."  
  
For several painfully tempting moments, Susan wanted more than anything to give Chen a matching set of finger marks on her other cheek -- even things out a bit. She didn't waste time feeling hurt by the allegations; they were rubbish, especially coming from someone with Chen's history. Susan could remember when the hotshot doctor was just a clueless med student who screwed up the easiest of tasks, and, honestly, Jing-Mei Chen had not changed much since then.  
  
"Look, I'm not sure if you're jealous or what, but don't drag Abby into this. She's not even here." Susan crossed her arms and regarded Chen with distaste. "And in case you haven't noticed, we are no longer in the workplace, so I can do whatever I damn well please. Which would be very unfortunate for you if I were as immature as you claim. But I'm not. So I'm gonna get in my car and go have fun with my niece and one of my real friends. See you 'round, Doctor Chen."  
  
Turning sharply on her heel, Susan walked away and didn't look back. Inside she was fuming, wishing she would have given an even longer, profaner tongue-lashing. But she consoled herself with the fact that, if she had not been avoiding Chen to begin with and loitered in the doctors lounge for a few minutes after their shifts' end, she probably would have been the one who got stuck assisting the paramedics. She would have been the one getting slapped silly. But, as luck would have it...  
  
Settling into the driver's seat of her car, Susan smirked at herself in the rearview mirror, turned the air conditioner on full-blast and began to think of amusing ways to narrate the whole story for Abby later. 


	5. The Sound of Musicals

"C'mon, Annie. Let's go to the movies." - Grace Farrell [Annie]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 5: The Sound of Musicals  
  
"-escaped the Cicero Correctional Facility early this morning, reportedly using a 60 foot rope of knotted bed sheets to lower themselves to the ground and scale the perimeter fence. Again, they are 30-year-old Ace Vasquez, Hispanic, 5 foot 9, 170 to 180 pounds; and Marshall Fletcher, 19 years old, black, 5 foot 6, 130 pounds. These men are considered armed and dangerous. If you have any informa-"  
  
Susan frowned and gave another of the numbered buttons on her car radio an impatient poke. Stations that didn't play songs were one of her biggest pet peeves. Really, what was the point of listening to the radio if there was no music?  
  
"Ace. Who names their kid that?"  
  
"The parents of a criminal," Susan said through gritted teeth, aiming a final desperate jab that landed her on a country station with a catchy beat. She smiled approvingly and returned to the bothersome task of keeping her eyes on the road.  
  
Abby squinted at the radio like the sounds it emanated were foreign and puzzling to her ears. Neither woman spoke for a moment, both forming their own unique conclusions about the musical talents of Shania Twain. Susan, drumming the steering wheel and bobbing her head, obviously approved; Abby, however, looked pained as the singer wondered -- rather blithely -- whose bed her lover's boots had been under.  
  
"I can't believe people really do that."  
  
"What?" Abby blinked at Susan, her eyes glassy and vacant. "Sing country music?"  
  
"Escape using bed sheets. That's how 14-year-old girls in movies sneak out of their bedroom window. They're convicts, they could at least do something manly like... dig a tunnel with a Spork, or-- I dunno-" Susan gnashed her teeth. "Bite someone's face off and use it as a mask to get past the guards."  
  
A tiny gasp and classic gross-out squeal ("Eeewww!") came from the backseat, reminding Susan that she needed to keep the chatter G-rated.  
  
"You're scaring the children, Clarice," Abby said, dropping to a low, slithery tone. And turning sly as her voice, she attempted to push one of the radio buttons by leaning forward under the guise of adjusting an air conditioner vent.  
  
Laughing, Susan nixed her friend's plan, lightly smacking her hand. "Okay, number one, that sounded more like Katherine Hepburn than Hannibal Lecter. And number two, we either listen to this, or I put in the soundtrack to Mamma Mia."  
  
With a tragic sigh, Abby flopped back against her seat, the petulant child routine far more believable than the cannibalistic serial killer impression. "I bet Suzy would rather listen to a rock station," she said, directing the statement over her shoulder. "Am I right?"  
  
"Huh-uh. We like country music. Shania is Bernadette's favorite."  
  
"The doll could at least be on my side," Abby muttered.  
  
"Cheer up, the video store's right around the corner." Susan patted Abby's knee, pretending to be sympathetic. Truth be known, she was having a ball tormenting the woman. Susan being a younger sibling and Abby being an older one, they fitted together naturally and were very familiar with what their roles entailed. Susan got to be the childish prankster while Abby, all in good fun, rolled her eyes and just barely tolerated each antic. A perfect match.  
  
"What's the name of this place, again? Video Paradise?"  
  
Susan shook her head. "Video Heaven. I know it's corny, but trust me, they've got a lot of good movies and they're cheap. The store is huge too, used to be a Food Mart."  
  
Pondering the novel idea of browsing movies in a grocery store, the passengers were quiet for a moment. Susan was first to break their trend when the pleasant sounds of Shania Twain faded out and Vince Gill invaded her ears. A brief stint in Arizona with an honest-to-God cowpoke boyfriend had not made her a fan of ALL country singers.  
  
"Ew, make it stop." She stuck her tongue out in disgust, already fishing through the cluttered console that was mounted between driver and passenger seat. Her eyes never left the road as she retrieved a jewel case, popped it open in her lap, and slid its contents into the CD player. With a sigh of relief, she handed Abby the case to look at and fast forwarded to track number six: "Chiquitita". Her favorite song on the Mamma Mia! album.  
  
"Well, it's better than country," Abby commented, leafing through the CD booklet that featured an ecstatic bride on its cover.  
  
A devilish grin tweaking her lips, Susan began to sing in an exaggerated, operatic style, "Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong..."  
  
"Oh crap," Abby groaned. "I was wrong."  
  
"I have never seen such sorrow in your eyes, and the wedding is tomorrow..."  
  
***  
  
Video Heaven was indeed huge. The store front, with its plate glass windows and automatic doors, made for a deceptive entrance. Uninformed patrons could have easily strolled in expecting to find the usual layout of produce and other foodstuffs. Actually, they wouldn't have discovered much of a difference in the interior, either. The floor was still market standard -- slick, imitation marble. Fluorescent light fixtures still dangled overhead, threatening permanent blindness if you gazed at them for too long. Some of the original shelving was still in place against the walls, but the center of the store had been cleared and restocked with more compact, accessible racks. Now, instead of several checkouts, there was one main counter against the nearest wall. But the most important change of all: movies far and wide. Thousands of VHS tapes and DVDs lined up like soldiers prepared to go to battle. True to its name, it was a video heaven for any movie lover.  
  
"Yo," a bored voice acknowledged the arrival of three customers.  
  
By the time Susan, Abby and Suzy had figured out which direction the greeting came from, the female employee had already returned to watching one of several small televisions rigged to the walls, another innovation to the building. Susan figured they were meant for showing prospective movie rentals, not entertaining the help. Oh well, she didn't need assistance anyway. She took to video stores like a duck to water.  
  
Her friend and niece in tow, Susan buzzed towards the musicals section, woman on a mission. This was her favorite aisle. From Annie to Xanadu, she had combed over the majority of these films in more than her share of Blockbusters. There was something so fetching about a world where people sang and danced their way through life.  
  
As a kid she had wished with all her might that a nanny with a striking resemblance to Julie Andrews would come along and pull a Mary-Poppins-meets- Maria-von-Trapp on her family, filling their days with songs and joy. It would get Harry off his Barcalounger, turn Cookie into a sweet, attentive mother, tame Chloe's wild temperament, and they'd live happily ever after. That fairy tale never became a reality, but Susan had done the next best thing and tried for a part in every school musical that came along. For four years she was the biggest star in high school, portraying an array of her favorite characters on the stage -- Eliza Doolittle, Dorothy Gale, Peter Pan (Dutch-boy haircut and all), Sandy Olsson, Maria from West Side Story. Unfortunately, Broadway was not in the cards, so she'd gone to medical school and resorted to watching the Tonys each year with a bowl of popcorn and wistful sighs as her only rewards.  
  
At least tonight she'd have some real company.  
  
"I" was a scrimpy category, allowing Susan to spot Into the Woods almost immediately. She grabbed the box and handed it to Suzy. Elated, the little girl held it up for Bernadette to see and began explaining that "the pretty lady right there with all the curls" was the doll's namesake.  
  
"Don't worry, she's not a really real witch," Suzy added knowingly.  
  
Susan turned to grin at Abby but noticed that the woman was distracted by something around the "B" section. Something pretty amusing, from the looks of it. "Having fun?" Susan said, drifting over to her friend.  
  
Abby nodded. "Look, I found a movie about Chen's handiwork in the southwest."  
  
Susan took one look at the box Abby was pointing to - The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas - and laughed with such enthusiasm that a pair of young women who were passing by stopped dead in their tracks to watch. They were polite enough to wait until they had walked out of view before bursting into delighted giggles themselves. Unabashed, Susan continued to snicker. "I always saw Chen as more of a Kit Kat Club kinda girl, to be honest."  
  
The joke was received without so much as a chuckle from Abby, though she wore a leftover smile from Susan's show of mirth.  
  
"Cabaret." Susan heaved a sigh. "It's from Cabaret. Honey, we need to educate you on these things."  
  
"Goody." Abby sounded like she would rather eat mud.  
  
"And speaking of wanton women that sing and dance..." Susan's cheeks practically flushed with excitement as realization sunk in. "Oh my freakin' goodness!" She clapped her hands together and looked very much like Suzy had earlier asking if Abby could join them for a movie. Abby and Suzy simply stared. "I just remembered Chicago was released on Tuesday. I haven't seen it since it was in theaters. We have to get it."  
  
"Is that the one with Bridget Jones and Catherine Zeta-Whatever?" Abby asked.  
  
"Renée Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones," Susan said, nodding.  
  
"I kind of actually wanted to see that..."  
  
"Me too!" Suzy chimed in.  
  
Susan didn't pussyfoot around. Suzy was loaded down with Bernadette and Into the Woods and the Powerpuff Girls backpack she insisted on carting around, so Susan grabbed the nearest hand in sight and hurried toward the new releases with Abby stumbling along behind her. They rounded the corner in time to see the two girls that had witnessed Susan's outburst standing in front of an empty shelf, one of them holding what appeared to be the only copy of Chicago available.  
  
"I think we can take 'em," Abby whispered when Susan's shoulders slumped dejectedly. "I get the short one, you get the tall one."  
  
Suzy surprised all four of the adults when she pushed past her aunt and Abby, marched bravely over to the two strangers and said, "We were coming to get that."  
  
---  
  
Author's Note, 10-24-03: So, who'll get Chicago? Trouble brewing? The plot is getting ready to thicken, think ya got it figured out? hehehe. Stick around and see. And thanks for the reviews, guys. They do a body good. 


	6. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Author's Note, 11-07-03: I'd just like to point out that almost all of this chapter was written before last night's episode, so if you read something and think it's similar to one of the scenes, it was purely coincidental. Plus, one of Susan's jokes might seem a bit tacky after the news that was sprung on us last night about her mother, but I'm not changing it. Just remember it's me who's tacky, not Susan. Oh, and the story's rated PG-13 now. I changed it for language.  
  
---  
  
"Spectacular Spectacular! No words in the vernacular can describe this great event. You'll be dumb with wonderment. Returns are fixed at ten percent. You must agree that's excellent. And on top of your fee, you'll be involved artistically." - Harold Zidler [Moulin Rouge]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 6: Something Wicked This Way Comes  
  
"Can we have it?" Suzy pressed, tapping her foot with impatience. She motioned at the Chicago VHS, incase there was any confusion as to what she wanted. No one had answered her first statement, though they were all staring at her. She made a noise like a mouse squeaking when Susan approached from behind, crooked a finger around the shoulder strap of her backpack, and steered Suzy backwards a few steps. "Aunt Su-"  
  
Susan cupped her hand over the little girl's mouth, muffling the indignant protest. "Sorry, don't mind her," she said, flashing a grin at the bemused strangers. "She has Tourette's. Blurts out the strangest things sometimes."  
  
"Whum?" Suzy tilted her head back to glare at her aunt. "Hmm-mm." She got her revenge by licking Susan's palm.  
  
"Oh..." The blond girl - she was the taller one Susan was supposed to "get" if it came to blows - glanced at her companion. They seemed to be deciding whether or not to take Susan seriously. Or maybe just contemplating if they should run for the hills. "That's okay. It's not like we haven't seen it a million times already." The girl with frizzy brown hair nodded in agreement.  
  
"Isn't it great?" Susan said, happy to meet some fellow fans. Right after watching the movie she had wanted to discuss it and made the mistake of trying out a few online chats and forums, hoping to strike up a conversation or two. What she found was a bunch of annoying know-it-alls, none of them a day over fourteen, each wanting to dissect the movie to its very core, complain about its downfalls, tell her how misconstrued her opinion was, and congratulate themselves for making lame points to support each other's analyses. It was like broaching the idea of broccoli to a group of kindergartners. But these girls, although young (Susan guessed them at about 18 to 20-ish), looked relatively bright and mature enough.  
  
"Oh yeah, it's amazing," said the blond. "Even better than the stage version. Especially the Cell Block Tango. Catherine's so great there, and I love the way they used the red scarves to represent blood."  
  
"Me too. And who knew Renée could sing so well?"  
  
"I did." It was the short girl, looking quite eager to join in on the topic, though she gave off a strong bashful vibe. She continued in a hurry, her confidence visibly dwindling when all eyes were on her. "She sings at the end of Empire Records. I didn't even know who she was when I first saw it, but I thought she sounded great."  
  
Susan was intrigued. "Really? I've never seen it. I'll have to check that out."  
  
The discourse continued for a few moments more, touching on everything from favorite Chicago quotes to how unfair it was that Renée Zellweger hadn't taken home an Academy Award for her portrayal of Roxie Hart (the brown- haired girl was especially passionate about that). It was beginning to look as if the three ladies might break into song if this kept up, but Susan had Abby and Suzy to think of. They were patiently - and silently - waiting through a conversation that would only be of interest to someone who had seen the movie. Time to move on.  
  
"So anyhow..." Susan put on a polite-try-at-getting-away smile. "Enjoy the movie, guys. We'll make do with Into the Woods."  
  
"Wait, you should take it." Again, it was the blond girl speaking while her friend nodded consent. "If y'all haven't seen it" - she indicated Abby and Suzy - "you need it more than we do. We'll be buying copies of our own, soon as we get the money, anyway. This was just to hold us over 'cause we're broke." Both girls chuckled, apparently at ease with their current poverty.  
  
"You sure?" Susan feigned reluctance. She hadn't seen Chicago in such a very long while, but the other girls had gotten to it first, fair and square.  
  
"Yep, here."  
  
Suzy intercepted the video tape and clutched it greedily to her chest with the rest of her loot. She did, however, show some manners once everything was situated to her satisfaction. "Thank you."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Susan echoed.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
They had started to go their separate ways, when the less than courteous employee who had "yo"d Susan and the others earlier sauntered over with an armload of movies and began organizing them on their shelves. She looked mildly annoyed when Susan's new buddies snatched up a copy of Chicago that barely had time to get cozy with its neighbor, Catch Me If You Can. "Yeah, that one's going quick," she said to no one in particular. "I don't see what the big deal is. The choreography stinks and half the people in it can't even sing. Except for Queen Latifah. And if you wanna see her, just rent this." She held up a copy of Bringing Down the House before moving down the line to put it in an open space. "It's da bomb."  
  
Hearing her movie being defamed so nonchalantly almost made Susan wince. She was all for freedom of speech and accepting another's opinions, if not embracing them, but some people just needed to keep their mouths shut. Especially little prepubescent-looking chippies who said things like "da bomb" and sported an unnatural shade of hair that could have come straight from Elmo's collection of fur dye. The color clashed horribly with the red Video Heaven t-shirt the girl was wearing. It was tripping Susan out. She glanced at Abby and pretended to gag herself, open mouth, insert finger style. From the looks of it, the two friends Susan had chatted with felt the same way. They were exchanging disgusted scowls and edging away from the employee. "Emily" (her nametag read) was oblivious to the reactions. She went on arranging movies and chewing her gum like her life depended on it.  
  
No, not chewing... popping, Susan thought.  
  
"Can me and Bernadette go look at the kids' movies, Aunt Susan?" Suzy eyed the brightly decorated nook that was tucked away on the far side of the store. Cartoon character decals were plastered over every inch of window space and a big playroom rug, the kind you buy at Wal-Mart with a whole town and roads designed on it, formed an island in the middle of the surrounding shelves. Someone had done a nice job of making it an alluring spot for children. Adults would appreciate it, too, because of the easy visibility that allowed them to browse and keep a watchful eye on their youngsters at the same time.  
  
"Sure. But don't wander off."  
  
Suzy was already clunking across the store, her tattered sandals in danger of flying off and putting someone's eye out. "I won't."  
  
"She's a great kid," Abby said, her fond smile matching Susan's.  
  
"I think so too." As they strolled, Susan trailed her finger across movie boxes, glancing at the titles but not really seeing them. "She's so much like Chloe."  
  
Silence followed. Susan sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't say that."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well... I don't want to jinx Suzy." Susan shrugged. "But it's not like Chloe is all bad. I kind of made her out to be a monster this morning when I told you about her, but she's not. She's got a lot of good qualities too. She's great with people; one of those 'never meets a stranger' types, you know? And she is hilarious. Always knows how to make you laugh."  
  
"Sounds like you."  
  
Grinning, Susan turned nostalgic. "This one time, I was really upset because I'd just found out that my boyfriend was cheating on me. Chloe was royally pissed. So she decides we're going to follow the guy and his date to the theater one night and hide around the corner with a couple of Super Soaker squirt guns filled with Hawaiian Punch."  
  
Abby's eyebrows went up.  
  
"It stains better," Susan explained. "But the movie turned out to be really long. I think it was Star Wars, or something. And we both got thirsty and started drinking the Hawaiian Punch, and by the time the movie let out, most of the punch was gone." She snickered at the memory. "A normal person would have just gone home, but not Chloe. She waited till the very end, and then grabbed a soda cup from some complete stranger's hand as they were walking by. She went right up to the guy and dumped it over his head."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And it was water. We laughed about it for two days straight." Susan shook her head, smile growing fainter. "It's stuff like that that makes me want to help her. She may be flighty, but she's been there for me when I needed her... more than once. No matter how angry she makes me, I can't give up on her." Realizing she had begun to ramble, Susan glanced over at Abby, whose hands were stuffed deep into her pockets, her shoulders curving inward as she walked along, eyes pointed at the floor. "Do I sound too sappy and pathetic?"  
  
"Nope." Abby straightened and put on one of her smiles that always reminded Susan of a self-conscious little kid trying to hide missing teeth on picture day at school. "At least not to me. I understand it. I don't think many people do unless they've lived it. They think it's a piece of cake to walk away from, but when it's your sister or mom or brother telling you they need you..."  
  
"You drop what you're doing and come a-runnin'," Susan finished.  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
They slipped into another brief, thoughtful silence that made Susan wish she hadn't brought up such a weighty topic in the middle of a video store. One of these days she and Abby were going to do what normal friends did and have their meaningful discussions over cups of coffee at a secluded restaurant table, rather than in hospital bathrooms and Video Heaven.  
  
"Anyway. Let's make fun of Chen again." Susan grabbed a copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets from the shelf they were passing. "What's this remind you of?" She held the box close to her face, the cover art of Daniel Radcliffe and his Hogwarts cronies pointing towards Abby, and parroted the high, screechy voice of Chen's assailant. "Die, Muggle, die!"  
  
"God, I can't believe I missed that," Abby said, laughing. "It's so unfair."  
  
"I tell you what -- next time they wheel a fruitcake into the ER, we'll bribe her to slap Chen for us. Maybe it'll become a tradition."  
  
"Woo!"  
  
Both ladies were still making wisecracks and cutting up as they approached an odd sight at the end of the new release section. Emily, aka Video Heaven employee, and the two Chicago fans Susan had befriended were standing stock- still in the aisle, their eyes transfixed on the TV screen a few feet overhead. Judging by the siren noises, it sounded as though they were engrossed in an intense action movie sequence. None of them budged or took notice of Abby and Susan edging past, until Susan caught a glimpse of the television and furrowed her brow. "Hey, what is this?" It definitely wasn't a movie.  
  
"Didja hear about those creeps that busted outta jail this mornin' in Cicero?" Emily asked, barely intelligible over the wad of gum she was gnawing at. Grape flavored, from the smell of it.  
  
Susan nodded. Abby murmured, "Ace."  
  
"'pparently one of them's got a relative here in Chicago, so they hijacked a car and went to the person's house to get guns and money and crap. Cops caught wind of it and now they're chasing the guys. I've been watching the news about it all day."  
  
The jumpy aerial feed from a helicopter camcorder confirmed Emily's run- down of the situation. As everyone watched, the small brown vehicle on television swerved wildly and took a curve at top speed, several wailing police cars in pursuit.  
  
"Oh, my God." Susan squinted at the TV. "That's close to the hospital."  
  
"So?" said Emily.  
  
"We work there."  
  
"Doctors?" the blond girl asked, distracted.  
  
"I am."  
  
"Nurse," Abby answered.  
  
Hypnotic as the chase scene was, Susan kept a vigilant eye on the children's corner and her niece. Odd how becoming a guardian could immediately affect one's behavior. She had a sudden, intense urge to call Suzy to safety. But it would be such an illogical request from a rational, easygoing person like herself, Susan thought. The video store was empty, save the small party gathered by the television -- no one around to even pose a threat. Chocking the sensation up to blossoming motherly instincts in need of fine tuning, Susan returned to the drama being played out on TV. Instead of fleeing criminals, two news anchors had appeared to say there would be more coverage of the getaway after "this short break."  
  
"Damn." Emily snapped a tiny purple bubble with her gum and drifted off to her post at storefront.  
  
What took place within the next few minutes adopted a surreal quality that could have rivaled most of the drama/suspense flicks that lined the Video Heaven shelves. Susan clearly remembered picking up a copy of Mommie Dearest and joking that it reminded her of Cookie Lewis (Abby responded by saying the movie Sybil was, in fact, based on her own mother, Maggie), but everything that followed became a blur. She heard the sirens first, too clear and loud to be coming from television speakers, and would have stepped over to have a look out the window even if Emily hadn't yelled, "Holy shit, they're gonna drive right past!"  
  
Then the air was filled with frantic shouts and screaming. And glass. God, so much glass. It came from all directions, like razor-sharp raindrops that chose erratic paths at will, rather than simply fall from the sky. Shards of it grazed Susan's cheeks and arms, flooding them with a searing pain she didn't comprehend. It was the most basic of rules any doctor should know: broken glass cuts, and cuts hurt; but none of it registered in her mind. She was still trying to understand what she had just seen. The car losing control and skidding. The way it ramped the curb, going airborne and landing in a shower of sparks before it careened into the plate glass entrance of Video Heaven. Abby knocked backwards and scrambling across the floor on hands and feet after Susan had shoved her out of the car's path. The first heavyduty movie rack tipping precariously, then starting a domino effect that reached the back of the store and sent the shy, brown-haired girl sailing in the process. Had any of it really happened? Had a bomb been set off? The car might have been a figment of imagination. But no, Susan could hear a horn blaring, and when she had risen from the floor, her clothes shedding a layer of glass that tinkled around her feet, she saw the car a few feet away, its nose smashed in. The brown paint was chipped and covered with dents and blemishes.  
  
"Are you okay?" Abby's voice was thin and shaky. She was trying to get up without placing her already bloodied hands in any more glass. "Oh, Jesus," she whispered. "Jesus."  
  
"I think so." Susan took her friend by the elbow and balanced her. She was about to ask if Abby was injured, but a rush of fear made her breath catch sharply. Suzy. Where was Suzy? That wasn't a child's voice that was calling for help. Why wouldn't Suzy be calling for help?  
  
Abby's face drained of its remaining color when she locked eyes with Susan and seemed to intuit her thoughts. Speechless, Susan turned and waded through the wreckage that surrounded her. Plastic video cases were strewn about the floor, DVD boxes lay open, their discs scattered nearby, overhead lights reflecting off their round surfaces in rainbow color. They would easily have been kicked aside if it weren't for the glass that was spread over everything, thick as icing. Susan had to move slowly to keep from slipping. Dammit, why had she changed into flip-flops? She crunched noisily with every step, and winced as tiny slivers of shattered window embedded themselves into the soles of her feet. It was as pleasant as walking on hot coals, but she ignored the pain and forged on, driven by fear for her niece.  
  
Susan noticed movement behind the windshield of the car as she edged past it to get to Suzy's side of the store. There were also shouts from outside, male voices telling her not to move. But how could she listen when she had just spotted Suzy no more than ten feet away, huddled in the kiddie corner, sobbing her heart out? Susan would have made it to her destination, too, if an armed policeman hadn't appeared in what used to be the doorway - now a gaping hole - and ordered her to stay back. Too late. The deafening pop made her ears ring, and at first, she thought the cop had fired at her. When the uniformed man suddenly dropped to his knees, a geyser of blood spurting from his chest, Susan realized it was he who was shot. GSW to the chest. She'd heard that phrase so often she thought of it as a single word; volumes of medical text and years of studying sprung to life whenever it was spoken. She knew exactly what to do for such a victim. She could have done it in her sleep. But witnessing the victim actually getting the gunshot wound was a very different story. Nothing could have prepared her for that. Nothing.  
  
Suzy was howling now, hands over her ears, her face glistening and red from the tears that poured as she screamed for Aunt Susan. Feeling as horror- stricken as her niece looked, Susan had to force herself into action.  
  
She didn't get far.  
  
A hand and gun retreated from the empty window pane on the car's driver side, then emerged again when the door swung open as if it had jammed and been kicked from the inside. Susan tried to sidestep him, but the man dislodged himself from behind the steering wheel and seized a handful of her shirt in one deft motion. She gasped as he spun her roughly towards him, her back colliding with his stomach, and snaked a powerful arm around her neck. She didn't consider herself a weakling, but this guy could pitch her like a rag doll, she was sure.  
  
"Ple-" She gagged when he tightened his grip to cut her off. He didn't want her to speak. That was okay, Susan felt much less talkative now that he was pressing the nozzle of a gun to her temple. Her knees started to give, but her captor kept her upright and pressed against his rigid body. She felt her own chest vibrate with his when he hollered a warning to the legion of cops that were pounding forth on foot, guns drawn.  
  
"Come any closer, I'll blow her fucking head off!" 


	7. Ace Vasquez: Prison Escapee

Author's Note, 11-22-03: There was going to be more to this chapter, but I felt like updating. The ER writers leave us hanging enough as it is. sigh. Is this chapter as crappy as I think it is? Maybe next time I should reread Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood when I don't need to feel confident in my own writing skills. Anyway. *Warning*: Offensive language herein.  
  
---  
  
"I'm nobody's fool and yet it's clear to me, I don't have a strategy. It's just like taking candy from a baby, and I think I must be under attack. I'm being taken. About to crack, defenses breaking. Won't somebody please have a heart, come and rescue me now, 'cuz I'm falling apart?" - Sophie Sheridan [Mamma Mia!]  
  
*  
  
Chapter 7: Ace Vasquez: Prison Escapee  
  
Most of the time, Susan was self-assured in the ER. Able to hold a patient's life in her hands and perform complicated procedures while medical jargon bombarded her from all sides. It was not a job for those easily flummoxed or faint of heart. But everything County had ever taught her about keeping a clear, level head in the midst of chaos evaporated as she played human-shield to the man with the gun.  
  
She kept hoping this was an elaborate (and really lousy) prank. Pretty soon Shannen Doherty -- that slinky bitch -- would materialize and be like, "Hey, you're on Scare Tactics." The gun-wielding maniac would turn out to be a sweet actor named Marv. The cop would sit up and laugh, removing his shirt to reveal squib-detonated packets of fake blood taped to his chest. Abby would smugly proclaim, "I got you!" And Susan would take great pleasure in stomping the little pipsqueak into the ground for scaring the shit out of her.  
  
Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.  
  
"Back off! I'll kill 'er!" The man took turns brandishing his weapon and pointing it at Susan's head. Caught in a sort of permanent chin-up position, she clutched his forearm with both hands, trying to lessen the pressure at her neck before her air supply ran out. She wanted to kick and struggle, but the hot steel against her right temple, the scorched odor of a recently fired handgun, had a paralyzing effect. He was using a Glock, she thought. Or was it a Beretta?  
  
Suddenly, all those times her ex-boyfriend had droned on and on about firearms, and which was more lethal than the other, seemed of utmost importance. Per Dix's request she had learned the basics of gun use: how to load, proper handling, firing. But after a single jaunt into the country to practice shooting at some cans, Susan had gotten extremely bored and made a raunchy joke about preferring to handle Dix's "gun." They had ended up making love in the bed of his truck. And that was the culmination of her markswoman days. A lot of good it did her now.  
  
The cops finally got the hint and withdrew behind their squad cars, still shouting for the man to release Susan. His chokehold did loosen for a fraction of a second, then commenced squeezing again when an unexpected movement startled him. It was Suzy, darting towards her aunt, spindly legs pumping as hard as they could. She threw her arms around Susan's waist, holding on for dear life, as if that might prevent the unthinkable from happening, might protect Susan from the deadliest of bullets.  
  
"Goddammit, what is she doing?" the man growled into Susan's ear.  
  
"Sh-she's scared." Susan tried in vain to steady her voice. This should not be too different from talking to a psych patient. Show no fear (yeah, right!), keep a calm tone, use familiarity. And when all else failed . . . beg. "Let her go. Please. She's only eight, you-"  
  
A large, callous hand clamped over her mouth, its thick fingers tipped by untidy, jagged nails and a mysterious substance Susan didn't care to think about. His other hand, the one holding the gun, lowered and she felt it tugging at something near her hip. He had Suzy by the arm, pulling her away from Susan. He gave the little girl a vicious shake when she attempted to wrench out of his grasp. Fresh waves of terror surged over Susan as she prepared for the gun to be set off.  
  
"Listen to me, you little shit." The man shook Suzy again. "If you don't want me to kill your mommy, you gotta do what I say."  
  
Suzy gave up fighting and stared at him, eyes enormous, as if she was face- to-face with an angry and vengeful god. Too much crying had given her the hiccups, and her chest leapt with every spasm, breaking her words into fragments. "My mom-my ain't h-ere." She snuffled and gazed longingly at Bernadette, who had fallen to the floor during the struggle.  
  
The correction went unnoticed.  
  
"See that dead cop over there? Go get his gun and bring it to me. Don't try to run, I'll shoot you both." The man trained the Glock on Susan, then swung it back to Suzy. "Understand?"  
  
Suzy massaged the spot on her arm where she had been grabbed, and paused like she was gathering courage. "Uh-huh." She peered up at Susan for approval, but Susan could neither speak nor nod, her slightest movement restricted by the jumpy gunman. Two blinks sufficed as a 'go ahead', though what Susan really wanted to do was tell her niece to run like hell. But suppose the man was telling the truth. Suppose he shot Suzy. He had no qualms killing police officers; he might be just as indifferent with children. It was a risk Susan wasn't willing to take.  
  
Still hiccupping, Suzy turned and crept towards the felled officer, her measured steps resembling a cautious swimmer estimating the drop-off point in an ocean bed.  
  
Now the man targeted Abby, who stood off to the side and a few feet away, the same position she had been in for the past several seconds. "You." She flinched when he waggled the gun at her. "You get over there by the car and stand in front of my friend so he can get out."  
  
It occurred to Susan then that this man, this harsh, threatening creature with his hand practically cemented over her mouth, must be Ace. His other stats had long since been forgotten, along with those of his fellow escapee, but she remembered that name. He was the fugitive she and Abby had poked fun at in the car. And a tattoo on his muscular arm confirmed her suspicions. Four aces, one of each suit, were etched onto his tawny skin, ace of spades in the forefront. That curvy shape with its pointed apex had never struck Susan as such an ominous symbol until now. She had to look away, her eyes first seeking out Little Suzy crouched beside the prone cop, then swerving in Abby's direction.  
  
While Susan watched, her friend timidly approached the trashed vehicle and -- looking as small and vulnerable as Suzy did -- waited for the other man to slip into place behind her. But he wasn't a man really. More of a boy. He had the angular body of a teen. He didn't stand but a few inches taller than Abby, which quickly changed as he scrunched lower, keeping his head level with hers. Unlike his partner, he didn't use a great deal of force to control his hostage. His gun aimed against her lower back, the young man coaxed Abby backwards, peeking over her shoulder once or twice at the band of policemen in the parking lot, and barely touched her at all.  
  
"Yer a real pussy, Marshall," Ace said, disdain written on his features when the younger man approached, still shadowing Abby. "They're not gonna shoot and chance hitting these putas. At least feel her up a little." He removed his hand from Susan's mouth and demonstrated by grabbing her breast, a quick and senseless gesture he apparently found amusing, because he chuckled as he did it.  
  
The absurdity of it wasn't lost on Marshall. His wide, almond-colored eyes swept over Susan, and in the brief moment that their gazes met, she sensed in him the same fear and disgust she was feeling. He made an obvious effort not to look her way again. "We can't keep standing here, screwing around," he said, glancing fretfully at the ruined entrance that left nothing but air between them and the cops outside. "What if they got snipers?"  
  
Ace snorted. "Well, go ahead and turn yourself in, boy. They'll strap your nigger ass to the chair for killing a cop."  
  
"You shot him! They'd just as soon kill a spic."  
  
If this kept up, Susan thought they might do everyone a favor and shoot each other. But no such luck. The police's attempts to call Suzy to them fueled another bout of murderous threats from Ace, and he continued to rage until the little girl returned, a heavy gun balanced on her upturned palms, as if she carried a platter, and a hi-tech walkie-talkie secured under her arm. Ace went for the gun first, tucking the barrel into the waistband of his jeans, his other weapon hovering near Susan's earlobe.  
  
"The man on here said to give this to you," Suzy said, hiccup free, as she offered the walkie-talkie to Ace.  
  
Sure enough, a voice broke through the static, crackling and hollow, requesting to speak with Ace or Marshall. It was difficult to hear over the cacophony of Breaking News on television ("-in a stand-off with police, after plowing the Sedan into a video store. At least three hostages..."), the stuck horn that was beginning to fade and sputter like an amplified death rattle, and the outdoor sounds of city life and choppers; Ace didn't even try to reply, but kept the walkie-talkie in hand as he began to drag Susan farther away from the destruction, into an area less visible from the parking lot.  
  
"Move it," he ordered, letting the others know they were to follow. Suzy scooped Bernadette off the glassy floor and scurried to catch up, nearly bumping into Marshall. They both shied from one another, Suzy falling back a pace to walk in front of Abby, Marshall quickening his steps and using some coercion to keep Abby moving with him.  
  
"There more people here besides you three?" Ace demanded when they were concealed behind a row of movie racks that had withstood the crash. Susan inadvertently shot him a dirty look when he released her and yanked Abby from Marshall's grasp, shoving her into Susan. Suzy eased herself behind them, her hand finding its way to her aunt's.  
  
"Is there?"  
  
"I don't know." It came from Susan's mouth without any thought, a reflex brought on by her desire to keep others out of harms way. She let Ace's eyes bore into hers, determined not to reveal the truth, though she wanted to use Abby's head-down-stare-at-feet technique. But neither was convincing enough.  
  
Ace chucked the walkie-talkie at Marshall, caught a fistful of Susan's blond hair, lank from the heat, and twisted it around his knuckles. Sharp pains traveled through her skull, burned like chlorinated water up the nose, and prickled to the surface in the form of tears, when he gave a quick jerk downwards. Through clenched teeth she drew her breath, making a noise like air hissing from a balloon. The gun was against her forehead this time. "Who else's here, lady?" Ace snarled.  
  
"There's- there's three. Three girls," she said, voice strained, the skin on her neck pulled taut as she tried to keep her head at a careful angle.  
  
"Where they at?"  
  
"I don't-"  
  
Another violent tug and Susan almost dropped to her knees. Suzy was crying again, such hard, rattling sobs.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"One was by the counter over there, two might be farther towards the back," Abby broke in. "We weren't really paying attention."  
  
Unraveling Susan's hair from his hand, shaking it from his fingers the way crumbs are dispensed in the trash, Ace turned to Abby as if he had just noticed her for the first time. And he liked what he saw. Very petite. You didn't see many petite women in a prison, if any at all. After barely serving out a yearlong dent in his sentence, the only women he had come across were butch types. Plump security guards who buzzed off their hair and could have passed for men. Sixty-year-old nurses who wore dentures and were in dire need of cosmetics and waxing. They sickened him, made him lust twice as much for the kind of girls that wore tacky red lipstick and undersized clothes, the kind of girls that had always been accessible to him. But not necessarily the kind he preferred. No, his personal favorites were small, their blue jeans and white tank tops just the right amount of snug, butterscotch hair artfully untidy and ponytailed, their faces wholesome, youthful...  
  
"Marshall." Ace barked the name, a humorless grin tugging at his lips when Abby and Susan winced like he had hit them. "See if you can find one by the counter while me and the putas find the other two." He made a circle in the air with the gun muzzle, indicating that Susan, Abby and Suzy were to turn and lead him.  
  
"Shouldn't we talk to-"  
  
Ace seized the walkie-talkie Marshall was holding up and gave the younger man a not-so-gentle push. Something dangerous and menacing sparked behind Marshall's eyes then, his broad nostrils flaring as he regained balance. Susan noticed his fingers flexing around the grip of his gun, a rebellious index finger curling up on the trigger like a housecat getting cozy on its favorite chair. But if he had any intent to retaliate, he didn't follow through. Dropping to the position of track runner at the starting line, Marshall stole towards the counter, keeping himself camouflaged as best he could.  
  
"Ladies first," Ace said, coal black eyes mocking when he looked from Susan to Abby, then back again. Susan felt him watching her as she swiveled and gathered Suzy into her arms, fastening them protectively around the girl. Likewise, Suzy melded to her aunt, both legs slung about Susan's hips, ankles clasped firmly in place. No one was going to separate them now.  
  
"Bernadette wants to go home," Suzy whispered, nuzzled into the curve of Susan's neck and shoulder, her breath warm against the skin there.  
  
"We're going to be okay, sweetheart." Susan petted the child's hair, which was damp and sticky with sweat. Abby looked equally wilted when Susan glanced her way, their uncertainty reflected in each other's eyes. And this time when Susan spoke, it was done for their benefit as much as Suzy's. "We'll be okay." 


End file.
